How Men Meet

A Storyphoto

Some people have a green thumb. Davis has a green forefinger. He showed me when I visited the garden center on Saturday. I’d seen him there before but we hadn’t connected. He always seemed to be working with another customer, or I was being helped by a different staffer. I went out with one of them once. I figured we had a good start with plants in common, but Ryan drank too much and was too fast with his hands. I saw him the next day at the GC and turned in the opposite direction.

Saturday while I was perusing the perennials, Davis appeared. “Can I help you?” he asked. He was breathing heavily and seemed nervous. I told him what I wanted and we strolled the outdoor aisles, chatting, at first about plants and then about our lives.

By the time we reached the grasses, I thought of him as the kind of man I’d like as a friend. That’s when he showed me his green forefinger. I don’t remember why. He was talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking large his hands were and how long his fingers, that his hair was unruly but a nice variety of blond, his beard and moustache were neatly trimmed. I can’t stand freeform facial hair.

I worked my way down his body, admiring everything along the way. He was talking again. I tried to listen. “I heard things didn’t go well with you and Ryan.” I didn’t say anything. He gulped. His green garden center shirt expanded with a deep breath. “Would you go out with me?” he asked in a rush.

I said yes without a moment’s pause. Davis had already helped me in ways he didn’t know.